


Dances with the wolf

by bev_crusher1971



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Coda to 5x02, Episode Related, F/M, Implied Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, M/M, implied derek hale/braeden, no real spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:44:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4334345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bev_crusher1971/pseuds/bev_crusher1971
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The nights are the worst ... when the full moon burns on his skin and the yearning in his heart becomes too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dances with the wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-ed - as always - by my beautiful, wonderful Simone. *hugs and cuddles*

It didn't feel right. Not now. Not ever. 

Stiles rolled around in his bed, and could just so make out Malia's form, lying next to him in bed. She slept soundly, and involuntarily he smiled. 

He liked her. Very much so. She had been after all his first in a lot of things. His first kiss. His first time groping, touching. He really really liked her for that. Liked her for her patience in showing him how to touch a girl's body to inflame her. 

And yet. 

He rolled back and stared at the ceiling. Silvery moonlight shone in through the window, bathing his room in a strange almost magical light. 

And yet there was something missing. 

When he was kissing her there was no spark. Not the fire he so often saw in his friends' faces. When Scott made out with Kyra, Stiles sometimes had to call his name several times to get his attention. 

When he was making out with Malia and someone called him, he answered right away. 

He sighed. 

What was wrong with him? He had never felt the need to shout their relationsship from the rooftops the way Isaac had loved to do when he had been dating Allison. Or had lost himself in watching his girlfriend the way he had seen his Dad watching Melissa and – to an extent – even Chris. 

Maybe something really was wrong with him. He turned his back to Malia, wincing slightly when she moved with him and he could feel her claws gently scraping over his back. Somehow she never managed to keep them in the whole night. And his back bore the witness to that. Already half asleep, he remembered the one time Derek had seen his back, remembered the low growl that had torn itself from the werewolf's throat, and how good it had felt when the older man had cared for his wounds, gently desinfecting them and putting on some weird smelling ointment. 

Stiles wasn't aware of the smile that had settled on his face as soon as he had started to think about Derek. 

But then he also remembered the fact that the older werewolf with the gentle hands had simply left them. Left him to walk away with Braeden to do … to be honest Stiles didn't want to know what they were doing. He tried to push the sadness that had suddenly rose in him away, the way he had done for the last few months. 

And when a lonely tear rolled down his cheek it surely came from the single claw that his girlfriend stuck into his back again. 

~*~

The moon was full, and so was Derek Hale. 

Braeden was fuming. Ever since they left Beacon Hills, the werewolf seemed to marinate in some kind of self loathing. It was bearable during the day but became increasingly harder at night. And every full moon, Derek would simply drink himself stupid. 

Or change and dissappear until the early hours of the next morning, never telling her where he went or why his feet were sore, almost bleeding as if he'd run over a long distance at night, not caring for the underground the wolfpaws stepped on. 

Tonight was drinking night again. 

Oh joy, she thought bitterly. But on the other hand he was at least with her. Not out there, running around, howling at the moon like a lost puppy. She sighed. This was SO not how she had imagined their life after she finally managed to pry him away from Beacon Hills and his unhealthy obsession with the McCall pack. 

Leaning against the doorframe, she watched her boyfriend drink himself into a stupor. Which took a special kind of alcohol for normal stuff like Whiskey or Vodka had close to no effect on him. Underlaced with wolfsbane on the other hand, it did the job of intoxicating the werewolf pretty damned good. 

“Do you come to bed sometime tonight?“ she asked quietly, knowing all too well that although the man was at least sitting twenty feet away from her he could hear her loud and clear. 

“Donnow,” came the slurred answer and for Braedan that was answer enough. With a huff, she turned around, closed the door behind her, and went to bed. 

Alone. 

~*~

The moonlight danced on his skin, and he could feel the meanwhile familiar itching inside of him. His inner wolf was clawing at him, snarling and growling, wanting to be let out, wanting to run. 

Derek refilled his glass, and emptied it in one go. 

Run. Running through the darkness, guided only by the silvery light of the full moon above him. The moon that always ALWAYS led him back to Beacon Hills. To one particular house. To one particular person. The one person he could not have. Not only because he was supposed to love Braeden – which in a way he did just not the way she wanted it to be – but also because that one person had found happiness with someone else. Had moved on. Had forgotten about him. 

Refill. Empty. The wolfsbane burned in his throat, numbed his senses. Opened his heart. Made him want to lay his head down and cry. Of all the people in Beacon Hills he had to fall for the one he could never ever have. Not only because he was the Sheriff's son and his Dad would most certainly castrate him the second he made his intention clear. Not only because the friends of said Sheriff's son would sure as hell help the Sheriff hide his dead body should he ever get too close to the boy. Not only because said Sheriff's son was as straigth as they come. 

No. 

It was because said boy – guy, he reminded himself, the last time he had seen him he had definitely not been a boy anymore – was in a relationsship now. 

With a girl his own age. It was a fitting relationship. Much more fitting than being with him. 

Refill. Empty. Burn. 

He wondered how many more nights he could manage to keep himself in check. Wondered how long he could manage to keep his wolf inside. Ever since his first complete transition the urge to change became stronger. Tenfold during full moon. The worst was that he remembered everything he did while he was in his wolf form. He remembered all those other full moons where he couldn't keep himself in check, turned into an animal, and simply ran. No matter where he was, he found his way back to Beacon Hills. No matter how long he had to run, what obstacles he had to overcome. He was drawn back to this place by an invisible power stronger than him. 

He had lost count on how many nights he had been resting underneath a big bush next to Stiles' house, panting, his heart racing while all his attention was focused on the house. The window behind which he knew Stiles was sleeping. 

And more often than not Malia, too. It had almost torn his heart apart the first time he had realized that they were a couple now. The howling that had broken free from his chest had caused more than one light to go on in the neighbourhood. Had caused dogs to bark, windows had been opened, shouts had been heard, and he had barely managed to escape the man from animal control who had been called. 

Now, when the pull became too strong and he simply HAD to change and go there, he simply lay underneath the bush, pouting, watching, bathing in selfpity. And only when the sky would turn from black to a light grey, when the first birds would wake up and greet the new day with their happy singing, would he leave his place, shake his fur, and trott off. His tail behind his hind legs. The moment he was back with Braeden, he would go to bed, sleeping the rest of the day never telling her where he'd been the whole night. 

But not tonight. 

Refill. Empty. Burn. 

He was stronger than his animal side. Right?

Wrong. 

With a snarl he ripped his clothes, not caring that Braeden would sure as hell be pissed that he ruined another jeans, another shirt, dropped down on all fours, and ran. 

He didn't see Braeden and her stony face behind the window of their bedroom as she watched him take off. 

~*~

Stiles awoke from a weird dream. Malia had turned away from him in sleep, and lay curled up close to the edge of the bed. He looked at the clock on his bedside table. 3:48am. 

He rubbed his eyes, turning on his side again when he suddenly heard a noise. A whining sound. Almost like a dog. He stopped in his tracks, listening intently. Silence. He was ready to think that he had just imagined it, and it somehow must have followed him from his dream into waking, when he heard it again. 

A soft whine, close to a cut off howl. He sat up, and cast a glance at his window. It was open for it was a warm night. Carefully, so as not to wake Malia, he climbed out of bed, and walked over to the window, opening it fully. 

The moon was so bright that he had no trouble seeing everything. “Hello?” he called softly. 

Nothing. He stayed at the window for a few moments. Then – just as he wanted to move back into his room – he saw it. A barely visible movement under the bush underneath his window. A dark shadow that moved softly. He narrowed his eyes, and suddenly he saw two golden eyes gazing up at him. He gasped. And then before he could think too clearly what he was doing, he ran out of his room, down the stairs, and tried to open the front door with shaking hands. It seemed to take him forever to open all the damned locks his Dad insisted on locking every night. When he finally opened the door, he almost fell over himself in his haste to run around the corner to the bush. 

His heart was hammering like crazy, when he finally stood in front of the bush, vaguely making out a dark shadow that looked eerily familiar. And there was the whine again. Accompanied by a soft rustling of the grass when a long black tail was hesitantly wagging. 

Stiles fell down on his knees. “Derek?” he whispered, hopefully. 

Slowly, very, very slowly, the shadow moved towards him, and inch by inch a big black wolf emerged from underneath the bush. 

“Derek!” A statement this time. A soft whine was the answer, and when he reached out his hand, a pink tongue came out, licking over his hand. With a sound close to a sob, he buried his hands in the thick fur, and rested his head against the thick skull of the wolf. 

“You came back,” he managed after a few long moments, pulling the wolf closer to him, cuddling up to the strong form, “I missed you, sour wolf.” He laughed when he got a playful growl in response. “Yeah, yeah,” he murmured happily, “I love you too.”

He didn't notice the short stiffness in the wolf's body before the big animal relaxed against him, and licked gently over every inch of skin he could reach. Stiles giggled, and hugged the wolf just a little tighter. 

~*~

The buzz from the alcohol had long vanished, and Derek enjoyed the human form that was cuddling him. He knew that it was wrong. That he should have disappeared the moment Stiles had spotted him. That he should have run. 

Instead here he was … licking the guy like he was candy and Derek nothing but an ordinary, stupid mutt. 

But he couldn't stop. Stiles' taste exploded on his tongue, lulled his senses, made him careless. 

Made him happy. Made him think 'love' and 'home' and 'mate'. Somewhere deep inside he knew that sooner or later he had to return to Braeden. Had to face her again the next morning. But right now he was tempted to simply roll over and present his belly to Stiles just so he could get a few more cuddles. 

The hands on his fur moved from petting to long slow strokes over his body until the human sank with a sigh against his side. “I wish you would stay,” Stiles murmured, taking one of his paws in his hand, absentmindedly playing with his claws. “So much has changed since you were gone. I wish you would come back and fix things. You always knew how to fix things.”

Derek snorted which he managed even as a wolf. Stiles laughed softly. “Yeah, I know, sour wolf. But you have to admit: you and me … we were a great team.”

~*~

Suddenly, the wolf turned his head to Stiles' window, growled softly, and quickly moved back into the shadow. Irritated, Stiles got up and looked up, too. Seconds later, the window was opened, and Malia stuck her head out. “Stiles?” she asked, her voice sounded sleepy and a little confused. 

“Yeah, I'm here, I'm … ah … “

Malia made an dismissal gesture. “Okay, just wanted to know where. Don't care why.” She yawned, moved her head back inside and closed the window again. 

For a long moment Stiles stood still staring disbelievingly at his window. He was sure that he would want to know why his girlfriend was outside in the middle of the night. 

“She still hurting you?” a scratchy voice behind him asked quietly. With a little yelp, Stiles spun around. In front of him stood his sour wolf, gloriously naked, looking concerned. 

“What? I … ah … what?” he stammered, not quite sure where to look. He swallowed when the werewolf took a step closer. 

“Is she still hurting you? I remember the way she scratched up your back.”

The gears in his head started to slowly come back to life. Words sorted themselves out that had been just a jumble in his mind because of the man in front of him because … hello? Naked? 

He scratched his neck, and answered softly, “She doesn't mean to. It's just … she has to work on her control.”

“It's alread months now, Stiles, months. She should be able to control it.” He took a step closer. “I would never hurt my ma … friend.”

Stiles swallowed nervously, looking up into these incredible strange green-brown eyes, and could feel his heart beat faster. 

~*~

The lie fell easily from his lips. He would never hurt his friend. Yeah, sure. He could almost hear his mother's snorted laughter and see his sister's extensive eyeroll. What the hell was he doing here if not hurting his friend? Namely Braeden. Who was sleeping alone somewhere in the middle of nowhere while he was here stalking Stiles Stilinski, the Sheriff's kid, like the lowlife he apparently was. 

And yet. 

Yet he couldn't stay away. On the contrary. He moved closer, fully aware that he was naked, and that he made the younger man nervous. 

Though he wasn't sure why. He could hear the accelerated heartbeat, and he knew that if he took a deep breath he might be able to smell more. But he didn't want to scare Stiles. Well, at least not more than necessary. But a light breeze suddenly carried a scent to him. And it was such an alluring scent that for a second his knees threatened to give out. 

Arousal. 

Okay, maybe he was able to hurt his friend. But he would never be able to hurt his mate. And his mate was currently standing in front of him. Smelling like everything he had ever wanted. Had ever dreamed of. He wanted. God, he wanted so much. Almost too much. Wanted to grab Stiles, wrap himself around the younger man, cover him in his scent until everybody would know who he belonged to. Wanted to sink into his body until he couldn't recognize anymore where he ended and Stiles began. Wanted to pound into him until he cried out in complete and utter lust. Wanted to give himself over to this incredible, amazing, young man. Wanted to … run away and hide in shame for his body was totally on board with all the pictures running around in his head and was getting ready for action. 

Quickly he covered his sensitive parts and considered changing back into a wolf, when Stiles saved him from this predicament. “I … ah … should better head inside again,” he mumbled, though he didn't move an inch. “Sooner or later she might wonder where her favorite scratching post vanished to.”

He laughed bitterly, and turned half-heartedly around. But in the last moment he stopped, his eyes found Derek's and he asked, “Will you come back?”

Would he come back? Hell yeah. He had tried doing the sensible thing, the staying away. Hadn't worked. So there was only one answer. 

“I don't know if I should,” he answered softly. 

Stiles nodded, and his scent was suddenly interlaced with disappoitment and something close to shame. And as he moved to go back inside, Derek growled softly, reached out, grabbed his arm, and pulled him into a tight hug.

~*~

“I don't know if I should.”

Stiles swallowed the disappointment. Of course not. Why had he even asked, sounding like the clinging, needy child he apparently was. Derek had better things to do than to come to Beacon Hills to satisfy the childish crush of a teenager. He could feel his cheeks burning with shame, and turned back towards the house. Maybe he didn't love Malia the way she loved him. And maybe she didn't even love him but stayed with him out of convenience. But she was there. Not running around with some woman, doubtlessly fucking each other silly every night, laughing about the kid at home. The kid with the crush the size of the Grand fucking Canyon. 

A low growl let him hesitate. Slowly, he turned around, surprised to look into golden eyes instead of the familiar greens. But before he could say something, a strong hand grabbed his bicep, and he was dragged into a tight embrace. 

“If I come back,” Derek murmured huskily, more or less whispering into his ear, “I don't know if I'm able to ever go back and finish the job of finding the desert wolf. But we have to find her to get a lot of answers. You *know* that, Stiles.”

A short kiss was pressed to his lips, and Stiles was stunned. With a quiet sigh, Derek moved back, gazing at him as if he wanted to memorize his face. Then he dove in again, kissed him a little longer this time, and it took Stiles a second to realize that Derek seemed to wait for his permission before he took things further. Groaning, he took Derek's face in his hands and kissed the older werewolf properly. 

The reaction was almost instantly noticable, thanks to the werewolf being naked. Wow, this was really an ego-boost. One kiss from Stiles Stilinksi and Derek Hale saluted. He moved closer to press himself against all that silken skin when suddenly two strong hands with a hint of claws pressed down on his shoulders. 

“Stiles,” Derek pressed out between clenched teeth, “I … if I stay any longer, I won't be able to go.” 

The claws pressed in a fraction more, and involuntarily Stiles winced. Immediately the pressure was gone, the hands were human once again, and the expression on Derek's face was that of a kicked puppy. Within a blink of an eye, Derek changed and Stiles was once more looking at the meanwhile familiar wolf. 

“Seriously?” he asked a little disappointed. “You end all of our serious conversations now with just turning into a wolf?”

Derek just whined softly, walked over to him and gently licked his hands one last time. Then he turned around, and ran. Or better: fled, Stiles thought. But then he couldn't help but smile as he gazed after his werewolf. 'If I stay any longer, I won't be able to go.' That sounded promising. He turned around to go back to his room when a soft, far away howling reached his ears. 

“Yeah,” he murmured gently, “I love you, too, sour wolf.”

When he arrived at his room, he glanced at Malia's sleeping form. He should end things with her. It wasn't fair to her. Or to him. Or to Derek. 

Who was still out there with Braeden. He lay down in his bed again, careful not to touch Malia. For an hour he lay sleeplessy in his bed when suddenly the phone on his nightstand purred softly, announcing the arrivel of a new message. He grabbed it and opened the message. 

*back with B. Let u know when I find something. D* 

Stiles swallowed at the impersonality of the message and for a moment he wondered whether he had dreamed their last encounter. But then his phone purred again and he read, *sry, not good with words. miss u like crazy. NOT a sour wolf* 

He didn't need a mirror to know that he was grinning from ear to ear as he pressed his phone close to his heart, and closed his eyes to go back to sleep. 

The end


End file.
